Iconoclasm

I love the wood they nailed you on
Bloodstained and sweat on the sacred iron
I enjoy your pain, for they knew what they've done
I now see the life draining out of the forgotten prophecies become fulfilled.
Praise to the Romans for they obeyed your wish
Dry on your cross. I won't cry a single tear
The hammer they used, forever I adore
The nails in your flesh, I worship even more